


Sugar and Sweat

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Language Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Praise Kink, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rimming, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Sam vacation in Sam's home town of New Orleans. (AU Where Sam, like Anthony Mackie, is from New Orleans)</p><p>Post-Cap 2, Pre-Cap 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self-indulgent – I love Anthony Mackie, who hails from NO, but I don't write RPS myself, so I'm messing around with canon. Literally the only reason for this is because I like Mackie's voice. 
> 
> I don't speak French – I studied it, but never did well - so all I have is old textbook misrememberings and google translate. Come let me know if the 'sexy-talk' ends up being about public transport; any advice welcome.
> 
> Many huge thanks to mrs_d! I very much appreciate your knowledge of French and your patience with me!

It happens when Sam goes home to his Momma, and it turns out they're flying into New Orleans and Steve's still got an absolute ton of paperwork to do.

“You couldn't just leave that shit behind?” Sam says, under his breath because this is an airport and there are children, and Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Either the paperwork comes-”

“Or you stay, I got it,” Sam finishes for him.

He looks around as the last of their group head toward the doors, and Steve is already looking a little shiny in the heat. Sam slows his pace 'cause he knows Steve will slow his pace to match, and then he glances left and right and over their shoulders, and he gets a small, chaste kiss from Steve in reward – who knows there's only one reason to slow down and scope out the surroundings when nobody's wearing body armor or sporting a huge metal target.

They part and Steve's mouth does that small-smile thing, the one that says he's not-showing just how pleased he is.

“Hey there,” Sam says, and Steve's smile grows wider as he looks down, more embarrassed as his face darkens.

“Hi,” he says, without looking, grin wide, teeth white.

He shakes his head, pretends he's not affected.

He takes their bags because, y'know, supersoldier, and he blows upward to get his bangs back off his forehead. He doesn't have enough gel in today because he doesn't care how he looks on vacation, and Sam regards it a little bit.

“Y'oughta grow it out,” he says, reaching up to brush it back when Steve has to blow a second time. “I seen those pictures, y'know, I kinda like that swoop.”

He indicates what he means by miming the shape with his hand over his own head.

Steve makes a funny face, like thinking about it's painful, and he looks at Sam with such honesty in his eyes that Sam holds his breath.

“You know,” he says, smiling sadly, “maybe I will. I like your advice better.”

Sam lets him walk a few steps and then says,

“Hey, hey,” and Steve turns to look at him. “My advice?”

Steve looks up with his eyes crossed, as though he could see his hair by looking hard enough.

“I only cut it to...” he closes his eyes, shrugs like it doesn't mean anything. “You know how it is; a guy says 'you might look better with your hair cut shorter' and you don't argue when you're makin' friends, so...”

Sam doesn't need to ask what guy. He figures he already knows.

“You know,” Steve says, changing the subject without even trying to be subtle as they walk towards the front doors. “I never knew you were outta New Orleans.” 

Steve says, says it like 'New Or-Leans,' with the emphasis on 'Leans', and Sam nods, watching Steve a couple more seconds before he scans the crowd.

“New Orleans is home,” Sam says, saying it like 'N'awlins' because that's how he was raised, shrugging his shoulder 'cause what he says is true.

Those automatic doors go and go, and Sam knows it'll be like walking into a wall when they leave, from air-conditioned shade to muggy New Orleans heat, and damn but he's ready for it.

“When we get to the hotel-” Steve says, and Sam knows, knows he's saying it like a promise, knows he's about to be suggestive, but he laughs because he thought Steve knew, he's said it more than once but either he's said it too quietly or Steve hasn't paid attention.

“Hotel?” he says. “We're staying with my Momma!” 

Steve absolutely freezes for a second or two, his face white. It looks like his heart's tried to drop out of his stomach, and he swallows hard.

“Your mother?” he says.

It's not the first time he'll have met her but it's the first time they'll be staying in her house – the first time they'll be meeting her since they got together, and it's probably a fragile point in their relationship given that they still haven't actually said 'those three words' yet, but Sam knows how Steve feels. Steve knows how Sam feels. And he wants to know, because he's selfish like that, that they'll weather this before they have to weather anything more serious. 

Sam points across the thronging crowd inside the airport when he spots her familiar face, hair, shirt, sunglasses, there's his Momma.

“There she is!” 

~

Steve tries to remember his manners, to make sure he calls Mrs Wilson 'Mrs Wilson' or 'Ma'am' and to carry their bags and hers so she doesn't have to. She waves him off, and the few days they're here for look set to be reasonable. Steve will do his paperwork in the evenings, when most other people are busy or sleeping. They'll do tourist things in the daytime. 

Except, he knew they were here to meet Sam's mother but he didn't know they'd be staying in her _house!_

Mrs Wilson asks what they want for dinner and Steve says he's happy to go out for dinner, happy to _buy_ her dinner, and then Sam says he didn't fly all the way down to order étoufée of a menu.

“What make you think I'm'a make you étoufée?” she says, and Sam kisses her on the cheek and tells her he loves her, he missed her.

She waves him off and tells him he's fooling nobody, and Steve laughs when they get in the car.

~

Momma's cleaned the place to a sparkle-shine when they get there. The whole house smells lemon-fresh, but she insists they go out because the house is a mess. Plus, she's got to cook.

“We can help if you-” Steve gets as far as, and then she says she might have to kill him.

Steve laughs, looks at Sam, and Sam shrugs.

“Now you know where I get it,” he says.

“Anyway,” Momma says, “Steve here's a tourist and you're the best tour guide he'll get.”

Which is why they do go into town, of course. That, and they _have_ to because Steve _is_ a tourist, and Steve does all the tourist-y things that a man can do in New Orleans in this kind of heat. Beignets that get his fingers sticky and gumbo that makes the sweat run into his eyes, coffee with chicory and then a slice of Doberge cake and a brandy milk punch because it won't affect him. 

He gets distracted by Jazz in the Quarter that he stands and listens and taps his feet to. They talk about Mardi Gras and Sam signs a couple of autographs “Falcon for King” and stuff like that – Falcon's big everywhere, but he's biggest in New Orleans. Sam lectures him on the architecture and buys Steve an icecream with one scoop bananas foster and one scoop cherries jubilee. He buys Steve a baseball cap with a fleur de lys because it's getting to be warm for Sam and Steve needs to keep the sweat out of his eyes (which means Steve's fair skin will burn in seconds if they let it). He buys Steve a new shirt that has a gold yoke and striped sleeves and a fleur where his star usually sits over his chest, that Steve changes into when he soaks his sky-blue tee through (and looks damn good in the new shirt, too, even though sky-blue turned dark-blue sticking to all those muscles isn't too much of a problem).

Steve refuses the suggestion to get a sleeveless shirt. Even when Sam asks “Sun's Out Guns Out?” very nicely.

Sam doesn't get him the “Keep New Orleans FONKY – support local music!” shirt because, lets be honest here. Even if the roundel on the front does look a tee-niny bit like the shield, a man like Steve can't pull off a word like Fonky.

Steve sweats a little less in the black and gold shirt (they're designed that way, this is New Orleans) and he finishes his ice cream. He's such a tourist it's adorable.

“How you like it, baby?” Sam asks, and Steve looks around at the restaurants and the musicians and the people and he smiles.

“A lot,” he says, smiling. “Like the music. Like the food.”

“Oho, you wait,” Sam says, “until you taste the food my Momma makes.”

~

When Steve gets out of the car, he suddenly realizes he's going to have to go back into Mrs Wilson's house in his fleur de lys clothes. This is because his other shirt is disgusting and wrapped up in a plastic bag inside another bag that he's never ever going to let anybody near - he has to keep a _little_ dignity and he's not letting anybody touch a sweat-soaked sun-warmed shirt that is only soaked through because he soaked it through. 

But that means he's going to have to face Darlene Wilson when he could only be screaming _I'm a tourist!_ more loudly if he were actually carrying chicory coffee and beignets in his hands. And screaming _'I'm a tourist.'_

His embarrassment is lessened a little when they walk inside and Sam's Mom gives him the once-over and makes an appreciative noise as she goes back to the stove. Steve doesn't get how she can work in such heat; it's like walking into a wall.

“We'll have you cheering for the Pelicans _très vite._ ”

“Oh, he's more of a baseball man,” Sam says, before Steve can stop him, and Steve's just smacking Sam on the upper arm when Sam's mother turns around and raises an eyebrow.

Sam laughs at the sheepish expression Steve's gets, as though there's absolutely anything he can do about being mortified.

“He started it?” he tries, and Sam cracks up, followed shortly by his mother.

Steve thinks he might still be okay.

But even when it gets into dusk, he's too warm, even in his New Orleans clothes, he feels uncomfortable in the heat. So, though Sam makes fun of him, he goes to shower, and change into slacks and a button-down, before dinner – because it might be showing his age but he'll still dress for dinner because it's good manners.  
.  
Dinner is delicious. Steve has seconds and thirds and apologises the whole time. Sam's Momma thinks he's a lovely young man, tells him it's made to be eaten, not made to be wasted, that it's nice seeing a young man enjoy his food. 

Steve says it's not difficult to enjoy food that's so good, and Mrs Wilson makes a noise as her eyebrows raise.

“You found yourself a smooth talker! Mmh, I like this one, Samuel.”

He needs to fetch tissues to blow his nose by the end of it, mouth burning and the skin under his eyes sweating. As he coughs through a second glass of milk, Sam checks in.

“You okay?”

Steve just grins at him.

“Are you kidding?” he rasps. “I love it! Nothing ever tasted this good on rations.”

It's not until Sam calls him _'Cher'_ for the first time that Steve realizes they're not hiding this. 

He looks at Sam, a question while his Momma's back is turned (she insisted on getting Steve's third glass of milk, but it's too good a meal for him to be embarrassed about it), and Sam smiles the answer, slips his fingers into Steve's palm under the table and nods a little.

~

Steve thinks he's surreptitious about wiping his hand across his brow every now and again even once the heat from the food has died down to a comfortable warmth in his throat and stomach, the insides of his lips.

“Air conditioner works a little like cousin Jacob,” Momma says halfway through real bananas foster, and Steve makes a face at Sam because his mouth is full.

“Only works sometimes, and not for long,” Sam explains. “It's not my cousin, it's Momma's Momma's cousin by marriage. Not even in our family.”

Steve swallows his mouthful of milk hard, chokes slightly because a little went down the wrong way in his excitement, and then nods.

“We had one of those,” he says, meaning one of those things that falls into family vernacular. “It was 'do us a job for Auntie Nora,' 'cept she was my Da's Da's sister. Didn't matter who she talked to, she was Auntie Nora. Even to Da's Da, so my ma always said.”

And then Steve frowns, turns his head.

“You want I should take a look at it Mrs Wil-”

“Child, you ever gonna call me Darlene?”

“-son? Sorry.”

She raises an eyebrow at Steve and Steve has the good grace to turn red, and she looks at Sam.

“Sammy usually takes a look at it for me,” she says, meaning 'take a look at it for me, Sam,' but Steve stands up.

“I can take a look for you now, Ma'am,” he says, and Momma rolls her eyes. “Sam's still eating.”

“And where'd you learn how to fix AC?” Sam asks.

Steve narrow his eyes.

“If I can fix a jeep under fire, I can manage the air con.”

She looks him up and down, looks at Sam as if to say 'where on earth did you find one like _this_ and you ought to find a new one because I'm keeping it,' and shrugs one shoulder.

“Well if you really are done eating,” she says. “I'll show you.”

Steve beams, and follows her out.

Sam shakes his head.

~

It's not fixable, at least not tonight. Tomorrow, Steve and Sam will go back into town but, for tonight, it needs a part that Mrs Wilson doesn't have.

Which means it's going to stay like an oven in here. Still, now that it's getting dark out, it's slightly cooler.

“I don't know how you manage,” Steve says, and Sam smiles, looks around.

“This place is home,” he says, and Steve takes Sam's hand in his again, squeezes a little.

“Thank you,” Steve tells him, for sharing it, for inviting him in, for letting him see and hear and touch and taste.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and a few more, and Steve knows it's kind of cliché but he can feel himself start to relax like this, when it feels like there's nobody else but the two of them.

When Sam's Momma sits down again, they talk like rational adults and Steve and Sam and Sam's Momma have coffee.

Which is right around the time Sam says, “I'm gonna need more coffee in this sugar,” except that he says it like “I'm'onna need more cawfee in this sugah,” and Steve doesn't even register that that's why he's staring.

All Steve's really aware of is that his skin is burning in a different way now, and the insides of his thighs feel tight, and every muscle in his lower body clenched hard as soon as Sam's voice registered. He feels like an idiot. Amongst all the other things he's feeling.

~

Sam becomes aware that Steve is looking at him, and he looks at Steve and smiles, squeezes Steve's fingers a little. Steve's gaze lingers but he looks away again before it gets weird. It's not the last time either – it takes a few occurrences for Sam to figure out what's doing it, but he figures it out soon enough, and then he runs a test to check.

They talk about the weather, of course they do, and they talk about the food. Steve will eat four tonnes of anything he particularly doesn't hate, so his Momma talks recipes with him for a while.

And then Sam says, “storm's comin; later, _Cher,_ you ain't seen a storm like a New Orleans storm,” nice and low and quiet and, yep, there it is.

Big dark eyes, mouth open, a little bit of shock on Steve's flushed face. Sam can work with that.

Steve's paperwork will come up eventually – they never really get to leave the job behind – but Steve goes out on the back porch after dinner and takes a glass of ice water with him. The air is close tonight, hot and humid and worse without the aircon, and the cicadas rasp loud enough to notice and rhythmically enough to soothe.

Steve sits out in back and watches the evening turn to dusk turn to night.

“Had a good day?” Sam asks, and Steve smiles, presses the side of the glass to his forehead, his cheek, bending his head to get the glass against his throat. 

He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat all over, and it makes his skin shine, droplets on his throat and the dip between his collar bones.

Sam watches one travel – it might be sweat, or it might be the water from the edge of the glass – and finds that Steve's watching him when he lifts his gaze to Steve's eyes again.

“You?” Steve says, and Sam cocks his head by way of a shrug, looks out over the darkening garden.

“Yeah, I had a good time,” he says. “You know, I don't think I ever ate so much New Orleans food in one day. Momma only makes étoufée for visitors. Most of the time, we have casserole like everybody else.”

Steve laughs, his whole face creasing up, his grin wide and his eyes closed. He ducks his head a moment later and subsides to a chuckle, and Sam goes over to him, runs his hand through Steve's damp hair.

“ 'S nice to see you enjoyin' a little downtime,” he says, and Steve leans into the touch, his eyelashes fluttering as his smile softens.

“Nice to have some,” he says softly, the words dark and soft like charcoal, and smudged together just the same.

When his eyes open, they only open halfway, and Sam leans down to kiss him. It's soft and sweet, and they part barely at all so that they're almost nose to nose, Steve's face turned up, a smile on him like he's looking at the sun.

The smile falters a moment later and his gaze drifts sideways. Something's caught his eye, and Sam's on alert immediately because Steve's senses are better than his by default. Steve frowns, turns his head to look out at the garden, and Sam scans the trees at the edge. All he can see for himself is foliage and-

“Fireflies!” Steve breathes, eyes going wide. “Ah, look!”

He stands up, and Sam lets the relief wash over him right before he watches Steve start to edge his way closer with his head turning to follow the little bright paths they draw in the evening air.

He's not looking to catch one, but he is looking to get close, fascinated, and he glances back at Sam once and then leans back as one floats by his chest. 

One flashes by his head and he turns to watch, another lighting up his fingers, and Sam laughs at the one that's settled on his back like a beacon, right between Steve's shoulders.

“What?” Steve asks softly, and Sam just watches the little yellow lights around Steve's head casting glows on his shining skin, and considers just what it is that he's got.

“Aw, you,” Sam answers. “Gettin' all cosy with the lightning bugs.”

And Steve really does stare at him this time. For a good few seconds – until the firefly on his back takes flight again, and then he looks away, cups his hand near one and moves it so the light shines on his whole palm when it flashes.

Sam watches him carefully, and then he says, “you really gotta do all that paperwork tonight?”

He lets his voice slide, lets the home seep into it a little and, yeah, there it is. Steve's skin's a little darker over his nose, spreading out over his cheeks when he looks at Sam.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, I gotta at least start it.”

“Well you tell me if you want coffee or anythin' else, okay?”

The fireflies are moving off, annoyed by the enormous pillar of a New Yorker that's interrupting their dancing, and Steve watches them go, comes back to the porch, drains his iced water like a man brought in from the desert, and Sam watches his throat work, watches his Adam's apple bob and the rivulets that stream down from the glass and onto Steve's skin, as though they're chasing the movement of the muscles. 

“I will,” he says over a gasp once the glass is empty.

Over his shoulder, way over in the distance, the dark clouds that came up on the horizon half an hour ago light up purple. The rain will follow in an hour or so, will break the fever the world's in right now. 

“Meant what I said, _Cher._ Gotta storm comin',” Sam says, just to make sure he's not imagining things. “When it rain down here, you know 'bout it.”

And Steve doesn't turn his head, but Sam sees the whites of his eyes as his gaze slides across.

“Ah-huh,” he says.

~

By the time the rain hits, they're inside. Sam's Momma's gone to bed, and Steve's got one little battery powered desk lamp on (because Sam's Momma doesn't like to plug anything in when a storm comes over,) and he's bent over the paperwork spread out all over the kitchen table.

Sam's busy doing the washing up when he turns to look at Steve and says, “wanna coffee, sugar?” and Steve looks up to say no and then doubletakes and _stares_ at Sam, mouth falling open just a little.

“Huh?” he says, and Sam points at the cafetière on the countertop. 

“You wanna coffee, _Cher?”_

He's not putting the accent on, and it's not that he usually hides it. It's just that he's home and he's relaxed, he's in amongst the same furniture and trees and streets he grew up with, and it's easy to let it come back to him, to roll the words around his mouth.

“Sha?” Steve repeats, pink all the way to tips of his ears, and Sam smiles. 

“That's how you say it,” he answers, _“Cher.”_

Steve stares a couple of seconds longer, and then shakes his head.

“You leave me be,” he says. “I got at least another twelve pages before I can quit it for today.”

“Sure, sure,” Sam tells him, pours him a coffee anyway as the room lights up purple once, twice and then there's darkness.

Steve doesn't like it at the moment, Sam can see that much. Remnants of an old life, an old war, or maybe just something ingrained. His gaze flickers to the window and back, and then he's going back to his paperwork.

The thunder follows later by maybe fifteen seconds, and it's soft and distant. It won't stay that way but Steve goes back to his paperwork. Sam sets the mug down on the table and settles on the couch next to him. 

He's got a book, he'll read a while in the small, warm glow of the battery-powered desk lamp.

~

After a half hour, Sam gets up, walks over and presses a kiss to Steve's temple, steadying his head with one hand at the back of his neck.

“I'm gonna be back for you,” he says, a threat that's not a threat, and Steve smiles, watches him go as he goes on out to the back porch and stands inside the door to watch the lightning sizzle across the sky. 

He misses this kind of evening in DC. There's no heat like New Orleans heat, and Sam could watch the thunderstorms for hours.

Still, he's got a little trick up his sleeve now – not that Steve doesn't know it – that's making him antsy, and he gives Steve another full hour before he goes back to him, because there won't be more paperwork done once Sam's got his attention.

~

Steve is busy filling out an annoying little section of checkboxes. Debriefing, he can understand. Writing a report, he can sort of understand, although there's a little less need for it now that everything is recorded, and mostly reviewable online anyway. But this? Pathetic little questions about time of day, whether the weapon was holstered – a quick-fire way to obtain an overview, so Steve has been told, although it seems more to Steve like a fast way to avoid reading the whole report.

He's busy trying not to get frustrated with the whole thing when warm hands slide over his shoulders and squeeze just right, and he startles just a little – Sam's getting better at sneaking up on him, at picking his moments.

Sam's also getting better at digging his thumbs into Steve's muscles in _just_ the right spot, and Steve sits up straight to stretch out his spine and comes up short when his back meets something warm and solid. Which turns out to be Sam.

“Mm, _Cher,_ ” Sam's voice says, hot and low against the shell of Steve's ear, so the hair rises on the back of his neck, “you lookin' all _tense_ up in here, lemme facilitate your relaxation.”

Steve's brain absolutely does not work in the moments that follow, and he sits completely still without even wondering if his tongue's hanging out. It might be. That doesn't matter.

“Wha...?” he says, almost turns his head, but Sam's thumbs, Sam's fingers, Sam's hands squeeze _just right_ and he moans.

Sam presses his mouth to Steve's throat under his ear, breathes hot against Steve's skin, and Steve's eyes roll back – he lets them close.

“Sam,” he says, and Sam keeps kneading with the fingers of one hand, the other sliding down over Steve's shoulder to play with the top two buttons on his shirt, to smooth the fabric and come back again.

" _Mon Coeur,_ mmh, you want me to get in there for you, get all those knots on outta there?" Sam says, digging his fingers in, and Steve tries to say something but it doesn't come out as words.

Sam sucks Steve's earlobe because he can, holds Steve's shoulders and chuckles soft and low.

“Less you want a li'l help with that thing right here,” Sam tells him and Steve manages to turn his head very unsteadily and look at Sam, who is very close to him at this point, and look at his face, manages just to stare at Sam, who goes from looking innocent as anything to pulling away to look at him properly, mildly concerned. “ _Pas bon,_ baby?”

That's, yep, that's pretty much it – his erection is near enough instantaneous, and his head falls back against Sam's shoulder with a groan. He finds it difficult to keep his eyes open he's so turned on, can only focus on the sound of Sam's voice. Sam is humming in his ear, little noises that don't mean anything except encouragement as he nips and kisses, and Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip.

“You _l'aimes_?” Sam asks, pushing him, using every trick he's got.

“Uhhn,” Steve answers, and he reaches up to hook his hand around the back of Sam's neck, opens his mouth and finds Sam's, kisses him with about as much coordination as a drunk carousel. 

Sam chuckles halfway through it, breaks it accidentally and says, “Oh, _vraiment_?” and Steve crumples the papers under his free hand by accident as he pulls Sam down again.

Steve's mouth opens under Sam's, his skin hot and his breathing hard.

The next time Sam breaks away, it's to mouth a line down the side of Steve's throat, and Steve breathes a moan because he can't do much else.

Sam stands to look down at him, cradles Steve's head in his hands and looms over him, and Steve looks half-ready to pass out, staring up at Sam. Sam wiggles his fingers against Steve's scalp, 

“I get you goin', huh?” Sam asks, and Steve actually shivers, rattles the table because he's bigger than the rest of the people who usually fit under it.

“You,” he says, swallows hard, “Sam.”

“Time for bed, _Cher_ ,” Sam says.

That's it for Steve, that's the moment he groans incoherently, that's the moment he can't stand not to be up in Sam's space any longer. Only problem is, he goes to stand and finds that he's stopped halfway by the _table._

~

There's a long few seconds silence after the loud _bang!_ that seems to startle both of them, following which Steve's whole expression goes from painfully turned on to just plain painful, mouth fallen open, eyes squeezed shut, his face turning bright red.

“Oho, baby, no,” Sam says, as sympathetically as he can.

Steve draws a sharp gasp in and says “ _Ow_?” in a voice that's strained because it's kept quiet because it's the middle of the night.

Sam leans over to hug him, sliding his arms around Steve's neck from behind as he lowers his head to kiss Steve's throat, and Steve hisses a breath in through his teeth, sitting up straight again with his hands pressed into his lap now, Sam's face buried against his neck.

“Don't you dare,” he rasps, and Sam chuckles anyway.

“Did you just bang my Momma's table with your dick?” he mumbles against Steve's skin, and Steve groans, lifts his hand to cover his eyes, Sam's arms still around his neck.

“Oh my God, Sam, way to sound like I just whipped it out.”

“In my Momma's living room?” Sam counters, and Steve brings his other hand up and covers his entire face.

Sam laughs, Steve laughs too really, but it's dampened the mood a little, so Sam runs his fingers through Steve's hair, gives him a chance to feel a little better than he's feeling right now, for the pain and the embarrassment to fade. 

It doesn't take long, but it's a story they'll both be recounting later, Sam's sure – hey remember that one time you, hey at least it's not as bad as the time I – even if it's one Sam's trying studiously not to find amusing now.

“I can kiss it better,” Sam tells him, and Steve huffs a laugh.

“That's great, and I'll take you up on it as soon as it stops feeling like somebody played whack-a-mole with my-” 

Sam laughs, he can't help it; it's loud, and right in Steve's ear and Steve winces but grins at him nonetheless as Sam covers his mouth.

It doesn't do much to stifle the noise but it could be worse.

Sam bends double, gasping for breath, and Steve just watches him.

“So this is the whack-a-mole story?” he says, and Sam, helpless, just nods as he laughs.

He goes to sit on the arm of the couch to give himself a little support, and the laughing dies down a little, but Steve has turned himself around to watch, and his eyes are sparkling when Sam manages to open his own. Sam shakes his head as he starts to notice how hard his stomach aches.

“Oh my God,” he says, and it comes out way broader than he expects.

Steve just quirks an eyebrow, pressing his lips together as he looks Sam up and down.

“Hmm,” Steve says, and Sam holds out one hand to him in a shrug.

“Man, what am I meant to do with that?” and Steve cocks his head in an answering gesture, looks away and then at his knees because it's not as easy as he'd like to say these things but it's not as difficult as it was either.

“I can think of a few things,” Steve answers, and his cheeks color a little but he manages to hold Sam's gaze once he finds it.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam asks. “You gonna tell me 'bout it or do I gotta guess?”

Steve's eyes go dark and his mouth falls open.

“You could guess,” Steve says, as though it doesn't mean anything to him, when his tone and his face clearly say something completely different. 

“Oh, we could play twenty questions!” Sam says, giving him a look but he stands up and walks over as slowly and slinkily as he can, and watches Steve watching him.

Steve's head tilts up as Sam gets closer – he doesn't stand up yet. Instead, he elects to watch Sam walk right up to him, to stare up at Sam's face while Sam stares down at his.

“Is it somethin'...you'd wanna do outside?” Sam asks, and he's not sure where Steve's mind goes, but Steve gets a whole lot more color in him and swallows hard, clears his throat.

“Huh,” he says, and Sam smiles, takes Steve's face in both hands and slides his fingers back into Steve's hair, tilting his head back as they go.

“Is it...” he says, drawing out the words like a childhood game, “something you'd want to do yourself?”

Steve wets his lips, searches Sam's face with his gaze.

“Sam,” he rasps, and Sam smiles.

“Is it something _je peux faire_?”

Steve shivers, moans softly, so Sam cards his fingers through his hair, and then Sam leans right down and rubs his thumb over the shell of Steve's ear before he runs his tongue over the same place.

“Sa- Sam,” Steve says, and Sam brings his mouth right up to Steve's ear and breathes warm 

“C'm'on, _voulez-vous et cetera, Cher,_ daddy needs some sugar.”

Steve rears back then surges forward, grabbing Sam's head and kisses him, hard and hot and desperate, his tongue in Sam's mouth like he'll never get enough.

“Get upstairs,” he says when they break for breath, close enough that their foreheads are touching, and Sam chuckles soft and low the way he knows Steve likes – it's not an order, not a demand, it's a plea, and Sam feels the tug of it behind his breastbone and deep in his stomach.

Sam backs up, grabs Steve's hand and starts tugging Steve along behind him, and they get to the bottom of the stairs before Sam remembers the light on the table. He goes in a circle around Steve, lets Steve flounder by himself a little bit and then comes back to him in the dark.

Sam's been sneaking around in the dark in this house for years, and Steve has super senses, even if they're focused on other things right now. So Steve pins him to the wall when Sam comes back, his eyes wild the next time lightning strobes through the darkness. It's different now. 

At home, together, in DC or New York, lightning it makes them both uneasy, reminds them of how fallible they are, lets them both know how little they can see, how little they can hear, how little of the world around them they notice. Like those old horror films when the lightning flashes and there's someone where there was no-one before.

It's not like that now – with the air con broken and the air thick and charged around them – it's safe, it's cover, it's a shield, and the rain hisses down outside.

When Steve kisses him, they're too warm already, they've been too warm for hours, and there's sweat on their skin that Sam can feel. Steve's whole body presses against him from chest to hips, and then their legs are tangled.

Steve's kisses are not coordinated, his teeth sharp and careless – it's not a bad thing – and his hands are strong but his grip would be gentle. He's got his hands either side of Sam, one above Sam's shoulder, one next to Sam's waist, but they're both planted on the wall. He's pinning Sam with his body but steadying _himself_ with his hands, and Sam feels the hair rise on the back of his neck with how worked up he is.

Sam's hands slide down the ridiculous shape of Steve's torso, the muscles of Steve's back bunching and flexing under his half-soaked shirt, and he rolls his hips forward to get a rise out of Steve. Steve makes a noise into Sam's mouth that sounds just as desperate as the way Steve's behaving, and Sam smiles, does it again.

“ _C'est ça,_ baby, c'm'on,” he says, and Steve answers with something that isn't quite a whine.

“Upstairs,” he breathes, “get _upstairs_ , Sam.”

But they only get halfway before Steve's tugging him back for a kiss that's gentler but no less urgent, hands on Sam as soon as he slows.

Sam laughs against his mouth, tries to think of the next thing to say, and figures that's as good as anything for the purpose.

 _“Je peux pas penser a rien,”_ he says, and Steve just looks at him, eyes dark and shining as lightning flickers through the house again like reaching hands.

He shakes his head, as though he can't believe his luck – evidently it worked – and then he manhandles Sam until he's turned around on the stairs, and steps up behind him, grabbing his ass for good measure.

“Hey, this is,” Sam says, pausing to kiss Steve over his shoulder as Steve shoves them both forward, “ _my_ place, Cap'n Pushy.”

“Why you actin' like you don't know your way around then, huh?” he says, voice low and rough, hands on Sam's waist to guide him forward.

They climb the stairs like that, like an awkward four-legged creature, until they're both on level ground again and Steve is hard against Sam's ass.

“This were my place, we'd get started right here,” Steve tells him, because the wall is close and it's the middle of the night, and because it's true.

But this isn't Steve's place, isn't even Sam's really, and there's no way right now that they're going to do anything except in the bedroom – even then, Sam hasn't quite figured how he's gonna get Steve to keep it down with his mother two rooms away.

At least Sam's room isn't against her wall – he'd have booked a hotel were that the case.

When they reach Sam's room ( _finally_ ), Sam shuts the door and then Steve fumbles Sam into the wall, kisses his mouth and his face and his throat, and Sam smiles as he threads his fingers through Steve's hair, smiles as Steve's hands paw at him, smiles as Steve makes hungry little noises against his skin.

“Sam, Sam,” he says, like it's the only word he knows in the English language, and Sam eases him back.

“Gotta _ralentir,_ baby,” he says softly, smiling, and Steve looks like he's about to fall over backward, hair a mess, shirt askew, “don't wanna finish too early, _oui_?”

“Please,” Steve says, and Sam tucks the nearest chair against the closed door, under the handle, and gestures at Steve

“ _Trop de vêtements,_ baby,” he says, pointing for emphasis at where Steve's dick strains against his slacks, and Steve might as well have been ordered to get naked with the speed he complies with.

He almost tears the shirt even once the thing is undone, because it's stuck to his skin with sweat and he's being careless, he's not focused on the task – his mind's on what comes after. He keeps his pretty eyes on Sam, breathing hard, and he shoves at his pants so hard that his dick bobs upward to tap his belly, leaves a wet spot against the skin.

“'Bout you?” Steve says, chin jutting out in Sam's direction, and Sam undresses more slowly, Sam takes his sweet time and makes a show of it.

“Why 'on't you get comfortable?” he says as he rolls his shoulders, pulling off his shirt. “I'm'a take care a' you.”

Steve just stands still and watches him and Sam likes when he gets like this. Sam likes when he knows what he wants and he's too far gone to not be obvious about it, too far gone to realize the rest of the world exists.

His eyes are dark and his expression is serious and he wraps his fingers around his dick and tugs once, twice, three times when Sam eases his pants and his boxers down.

“Lie back on the bed, _Cher_ , we'll get there.”

Steve glances back over his shoulder and then lifts his head, the universal gesture for come-here.

Sam goes, nice and slow and, when Steve ducks his head to kiss him, Sam leans back, tilts his head so Steve has to follow him for it, and he does it again the second time. Steve's breathing hard through his nose and a purple flash illuminates his face – brow furrowed, mouth open.

“'S a good look on you,” Sam says, tilting his head, moving his body so that he's always just out of reach, and Steve's just that little bit too turned on to figure each move out before he does it. 

It's only when Sam's managed to hook his fingers around Steve's wrist and tug hard enough that Steve lets go of his dick that Sam lets him have a small, chaste kiss – barely more than a press of lips.

“Spoil my fun,” Sam warns, with barely a hair's breadth between their lips, and that gets through, that changes something and it's not until Steve's head is about level with his chest that Sam realizes he's doing as he's told and sitting on the damn bed.

It's too hot for this, the sheen on Steve's torso bright even in the low light coming in through the slatted blinds. There's a lot of him, he's a big guy, but he pulls the bedclothes aside immediately – there are already droplets in his hair, on his forehead, crawling down his throat and they're both clean, they've both showered. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Sam asks, drinking in the sight of him. “We won't be able to sleep in here after.”

“Who's sleeping?” Steve asks by way of an answer. “You've been doing this on purpose for hours, Wilson.”

Sam feels his eyebrows raise and thunder rolls through the air, makes the world vibrate around them.

“What' you want?” Sam asks, and Steve looks him up and down, all the way from head to toe.

Given that there's about six inches, if that, between them and Sam can feel Steve's breaths against the skin of his stomach, he figures he did considerably well to stand his ground while Steve decides. 

“What do I want first,” Steve corrects him, and Sam chuckles, which is enough to get Steve looking up at him again.

“Where you wanna start?” Sam says, cupping Steve's face in his palm, and that's how he feels the minute tilt of Steve's face, knows to look for the way Steve's gaze drops to his lips.

Sam nods slowly, leans down and kisses him, and then pulls away to push Steve back.

“Get on the _bed_ , baby,” he says again, and Steve actually does it this time.

There's no way it's gonna be comfortable, at least not until they're feeling enough to forget the way the sheets stick to skin, the way the stuck sheets tangle. But Steve is actually doing as he's told, pulling himself up, dragging himself up the bed, and Sam watches him peel cotton sheets from his forearms, wriggle against the discomfort of the pillows.

Sam takes a nice long look at Steve Rogers lying naked in his bed, and Steve narrows his eyes a little.

“Sorry, you gonna do anything or you just gonna look at me?” he says, and Sam smiles, enjoying the way the meager light from outside catches on all the raised lines of sinew and muscle.

“Naw, man, figured I might just wait here, let you get all worked up and then-”

“I swear, Sam,” Steve answers. “You don't get on this bed and gimme something in the next twenty seconds-”

But Sam already started moving as soon as Steve spoke, and he crawls up over Steve on the bed he's had in the same place since he was eleven years old, and gets his thighs between Steve's to kiss him hard enough to push his head back. Steve likes it a little rough, which is a good job because Sam's not sure he could manage gentle on a guy who could stand his ground in a hurricane.

But they stick, oh boy do they stick, like a leather couch on a warm day, and Sam just looks down.

“Just get me sweaty,” Steve tells him, already anticipating as he grabs at Sam's shoulders.

“You're already-” 

“Or- hey.”

This time Steve actually pushes at Sam's shoulders, and Sam props himself up on his hands and watches as Steve goes for his bedside drawer. Except they're not in DC and they're not in New York and Sam doesn't keep lube in his nightstand in New Orleans. 

“I'll get it,” Sam tells him, rolling his eyes. “You bring condoms?”

“I brought condoms,” Steve answers as thunder rolls outside. “Want me to turn on a light?”

Sam turns around and starts going through his bag in the mostly-dark, and he laughs.

“During a thunderstorm?” he says. “You know how a dog can hear you open a can from the other end of the house?”

Steve sighs heavily, and there's a soft thud which must mean he sat up to watch and then flopped down again. 

“I know of it,” he says.

“Well Momma's like that with lights in a storm. If you want her in here right now, you turn the light on by all means.”

There's a long stretch of what Sam will call silence, during which the only sound is his rummaging through the bag and the pouring rain and wildlife outside before Steve says, in a voice that's long-suffering enough to make Sam laugh,

“Please don't make me think of your mother when I'm hard for you.”

Sam snorts, and covers his mouth, but he finds the lube, and Steve's condoms are always in the same pocket in his bag (duffel, inside pocket).

“Got 'em,” he says, turns around to look at Steve, and Steve either knows exactly what he does to Sam or he's now too turned on to care what he looks like.

Steve's got his head and shoulders up on the pillow and his legs spread wide, feet planted on the mattress. His cock is hard enough that it's bobbing slightly as he breathes, and his eyes glitter. His blonde hair is a shock of pallor against skin that's turned darker in the lack of light, and he looks unreal, his skin slick with sweat.

“God, look at you,” Sam says, and Steve shakes his head.

“I'm a little distracted,” he says, and he tugs his cock a few times as he looks Sam up and down, as Sam turns around and starts moving back to him. “Condom?”

Sam produces one as he kneels back on the bed between Steve's legs, and Steve lunges forward and snatches it out of his hand.

“I'll do you,” Steve says. “I get a hand on me proper now and I'm not stopping.”

Sam chuckles, kneels up and watches Steve open the condom, throwing the wrapper aside somewhere before he pinches the tip and rolls it down Sam's cock. Sam has to bite his lip a second later – he knows that Steve is basically an amateur contortionist but watching him slot his upper body between his own legs to suck Sam's cock still takes Sam's breath away.

The long curve of Steve's back is irresistible at this point, and Sam strokes his hands over Steve's shoulders, as far down Steve's back as he can reach, and then he brings his hands back up through Steve's hair to mess it up. Steve grabs Sam's ass with both hands and digs his fingers in, bobbing his head as much as he can when he's folded in two, and Sam brushes the hair back off Steve's forehead and looks down at him in the dark.

“Mmmh,” Steve says, head turning in Sam's hands.

“You like that, baby?” he says, soft and sweet, and Steve nods as much as he can.

This was something Sam was surprised by once Steve had come into his own in their relationship. He'll spend the whole night driving Sam crazy if Sam gives him half the chance.

“Come on, Sugar, lie back,” he says, and Steve shakes his head and sucks a little harder, takes Sam's cock a little deeper, holds him closer with his hands on Sam's ass. “You tryin' to make me come?”

“Eventually,” Steve says, so quickly it takes Sam a second or two to register the word he says – it's all he pulls off to say and he doubles down a moment later.

“Oh, fuck,” Sam whispers, tipping his head back and closing his eyes a moment later.

Steve's good at this and they're both too warm – they'll have to cool off later or they'll both get heat stroke or something – but Steve's mouth is hot and wet and fucking gorgeous even through the condom, and Sam rocks his hips forward a little.

“Mmhm,” Steve says, pulling Sam's hips a little closer. “Mmh”

“Baby, look at me,” Sam says, meaning 'pull off and look at me' but Steve, the bendy little fuck, just opens his eyes and tilts his head back enough to stare up at Sam with Sam's cock in his mouth.

Sam's breathing through an open mouth now, and he strokes Steve's face with the back of his knuckles.

“Come on, _Cher,_ ” he says, and Steve's lashes flutter. “Lie back and let me-”

Steve swallows, hard, and does it again, makes a rhythm of it.

“That's just spite,” Sam says, and Steve chuckles and _oh_ it travels all the way up Sam's spine. “Baby, you finish me and I'm down for the count, okay?”

Steve's brows draw together and he bobs his head, turns it this way and that a little and then pulls off to use his hand instead.

“Little more,” he says. “Tell me when.”

He opens his mouth and then stops to look up again.

“Hey, the French thing?” he says, and Sam laughs – something curtailed a moment later by Steve's mouth, but he thinks about it, as much as his brain can manage thinking right now.

The air is thick anyway, thicker no they're both turned on so much, and Sam strokes Steve's hair and rocks his hips because Steve seems to like that kind of thing, and Sam's sweating proper too, now. 

“Gorgeous, _Cher, fait du bien,_ ” Steve moans at him softly and the man's throat is a goddamn miracle, tight heat crawling up Sam's spine. “Oh, Sugar, _c'est ca._ ”

Steve's fingers slip back a little in the sweat on Sam's skin, and he only realizes it's deliberate when the fingers of one of Steve's hand dips between his cheeks, the other kneading flesh.

“The ass on you,” Steve pulls of to croak, and Sam hears his own sharp breath in when Steve's fingers rub across his hole with real intent.

“Baby,” Sam murmurs, feeling blood rush down, skin grow sensitive.

“Can I eat you out?” Steve asks with the start of his sentence a little messy given that he hadn't actually gotten off Sam's cock at that point, taking over stroking with his kneading hand as he looks up at Sam and Sam seriously considers it for a second or two as he clenches, cock jumping in Steve's hand.

But that's not what he wants now.

“Later,” Sam says, in as much of a purr as he can manage, and Steve's mouth is swollen and his lips are wet and Sam kisses him because he can and because he wants to. “Thought you wanted me to get to you.”

Steve grins in the dark, the bright stretch of it a surprise. 

“Nah, I can wait if you want me to-”

“Baby,” Sam says, covering Steve's mouth with one hand, and Steve's eyes go wide with earnestness. “Later.”

Steve's eyes narrow and he says “I'll hold you to that,” against Sam's palm, because Sam's not trying very hard to shut him up.

“You gonna lie down now?” Sam asks, and Steve licks his palm and pulls away.

Sam doesn't give a shit if Steve licks his palm – he's not about to be disgusted. Steve was just sucking his cock and seems intent on sticking his tongue in Sam's ass later – they are _way_ past anything where Sam might consider Steve's tongue disgusting, but Steve's only doing it to get a rise out of him. 

Steve flops back into the pillows but he pulls Sam down with him, hooking his feet around Sam's waist. Sam can feel skin sliding on skin and, okay, this is a little better, but he still has to turn his head once they're face to face because Steve's breath is too warm to have him breathing right on him.

“What, food?” Steve says, and Sam laughs and kisses him.

“The temperature,” he says, the words a little lost to the thunder outside that follows the lightning that scatters shadows across the room.

Steve's head turns but his eyes don't leave Sam's face, and he wriggles just a little, hot and lithe. The back of Sam's knees are, at least, cooler in relation to what's pressed right up against Steve now Sam's not kneeling – Steve's cock has fitted nicely into the line where Sam's thigh meets his torso, and it's not like he doesn't feel the small thrusts Steve gives.

It's overwhelming the way Steve makes him feel, the things Steve pulls out of him, and he's so pretty like this, so open and wanton and Sam shakes his head.

“Baby, I want in you,” Sam tells him, and Steve moans softly, searching Sam's face with his gaze.

“Better get to it then,” he says. 

Sam pushes up on his forearms as Steve lets his legs slip open, and his mouth forms an 'O' when Sam rolls the condom on him.

“Love your hands,” Steve murmurs, but then Sam's reaching for the lube and coating his fingers and Steve spreads his legs right out, all of him on display, that pretty mouth hanging open.

Sam's mean with it at first, because he can be and because working Steve up is fun, using just the pad of his index finger to stroke over Steve's hole. The muscles jump when he does, not least because the lube is room temperature, not Steve temperature, but it warms almost instantly and Sam just rubs against instead of pushing inside, watching the faces Steve makes.

“Feels so good,” Steve whispers, voice getting quieter now he knows what he's getting – Sam's mother's in the house, after all, and he's better off starting now when it's not so important.

“I can keep going like this if you want,” Sam says, and Steve scrapes his teeth over his lip, settling one hand up against the pillow, the other holding his cock loosely for a moment before he sweeps it up over his abs, his pecs, as he tips his head back and stretches his neck.

“Sam, please,” he says, and if he didn't sound wrecked before he'd had Sam's cock down his throat, he sure does now.

Sam doesn't give him much more, crooking his finger slightly to just catch on the rim, and Steve's right leg twitches.

“ _Sam!_ ” he breathes, and Sam chuckles and slides his finger forward, not too slow but all the way.

Steve clenches around it instantly, and he says “hnnn” through his teeth, cupping one hand under his balls to get them out of the way as he winds the fingers of his other hand in the pillowcase. Sam twists his wrist to make sure the lube spreads evenly. Steve tilts his hips down and pushes back, and Sam keeps on twisting his wrist, the backs of his other fingers brushing the sensitive skin either side. 

Steve lets go, both hands come down either side of him, grabbing the rumpled sheets by his hips as he shakes his head.

“ _De plus?_ ” Sam asks, and Steve widens his legs anyway.

“Gimme more,” he says, on a breath as his chest heaves. “Please, Sam.”

Sam smiles, makes sure his middle finger's coated too, and he withdraws the first one to press both inside.

Steve gasps, a huge intake of breath as his chest expands, and Sam leans up and bites the underside of his pec just as Steve chokes back a moan.

“Good boy,” Sam tells him, soothing the bite marks with his tongue a moment later. “You learn how to stay quiet, that's good. That's good.”

Steve makes a noise that might read as unhappy, but Sam knows it's not, and he curls his fingers – figures he might as well go the whole way – and presses hard, hooks his fingers back and Steve gasps brokenly, his whole body moving as Sam presses and rubs and pulls on the inside, and Steve actually covers his mouth with his own hand the next time he moans, cock twitching as he clenches hard around Sam's fingers.

“Yeah,” he takes his hand away to say, “yeah, yeah, Sam, _oh!_ ”

“Shh,” Sam tells him gently, lifting his head to kiss Steve – Steve's jaw is slack and his lips are dry from breathing so hard, but he gives it as much enthusiasm as he usually does. “Keep it down, _Cher,_ don't wanna _réveiller_ the _voisins,_ you know what I'm saying?”

“Fuck, Sam,” Steve answers, and he grabs the bedclothes with both hands again and pushes down, so Sam kisses him hard and then pulls away fast, bites his shoulder and then his pec again, over his nipple, pulling against the flesh with his teeth until just the nub of flesh is caught between them, and Steve whines at him as he lets go and moves down the bed. “Sam, you-” 

Sam doesn't listen, mouthing over Steve's cock through the latex instead. It's thick and hot against his mouth, and Steve's eyes are wide and dark when Sam glances up to look. 

“Hey,” he says, while he's using his tongue, mouth already open, and Steve shakes his head.

“Hey,” he answers, and then there's a flash that's way brighter than the others had been, casting shadows from the slatted blinds and speckled rain across Steve's slick skin.

Steve's head turns to look at the windows and, okay, they're both vets and neither of them like when it's too bright too suddenly or-

The crash of thunder maybe five seconds later is loud enough to drown out the hissing rain completely, loud enough that Sam jumps, loud enough that Steve flinches but, when Sam's done glancing out of the window at the sudden noise, Steve's gripping the bedclothes tight again, back arching off the mattress, and he looks a little surprised when he manages to lift his head.

“Do that again,” he says, and Sam frowns, looks down at his fingers and then figures it out, looks back at Steve.

“What, this?”

He crooks his fingers, hard and sudden the way he must have when he jumped, and Steve practically convulses, his skin slick.

There are droplets of sweat in his hair and on his throat and on the insides of his thighs and Sam sucks the head of Steve's cock into his mouth and does it again. Steve's body bows down and he makes a noise that's deliberately quiet, one that breaks on the way out.

“Sa-a-am,” he whines, and it's only afterwards that Sam recognizes his name.

So Sam steps it up a little, sucks harder and makes a rhythm with his fingers, and Steve's hips snap down and then up and then they kinda roll and Steve covers his mouth with his hand again, except it does _nothing_ for the noise this time.

“Baby,” Sam says, frowning up at him, but he doesn't let up with his fingers, and Steve just makes a helpless kind of moan and slaps the bed.

“Sorry,” he breathes, “'m sorry,” and Sam'll follow it up with something nice in a minute – Steve hasn't recognized his own praise kink yet but it's there, and sometimes the little things'll sting if Sam doesn't follow it up with something good.

“S'okay _Cher,_ ” he says, stroking his free hand over Steve's stomach where the muscles are tense and the skin is slick, “S'okay, you're bein' so good but I need you to _apaiser_ a little, you know?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says again, and he looks down at Sam, a little more in control while Sam's not sucking his cock.

They stare at each other for a moment or two and Sam glances down at his fingers, where Steve's hole is stretched around them, watches the muscle distend as he pulls from the inside.

“ _De plus?_ ” Sam says again, looking up in time to catch the silent moan Steve gives, the way his mouth goes wide and his face screws up.

“Fuck me,” Steve says, “I need you, Sam, God, just-”

“How you want it?” Sam asks, withdrawing his fingers slowly, with a little wiggle from side to side just because he can.

The muscle flutters around his fingers, and Steve clenches once they're gone, but then Steve's moving, pushing himself up fast with the cotton sheets still sticking to his arms, his back, and they twist around him as he gets onto one side.

Sam moves back, lets him get onto his stomach and then onto all fours as Sam gets up too. He grabs at Steve's hips, gets his hands nice and full though Steve doesn't have much to grab at. He's pale in the darkness but there's so much of him and it's all gorgeous.

“ _C'est ca, Cher,_ ” Sam says, “lemme see that ass.”

Steve does as he's told immediately, pushing his hips back and up, and there's a flash of lightning so Sam counts five and then cracks his palm down on Steve's ass. The thunder covers the sound of that, and almost all of the deep-throated moan Steve gives in response, and Sam chuckles, stroking over the wet skin to ease the ache.

“Want me to get in there?” he says, and Steve grabs the pillow nearest to him and nods.

“Ah-hah,” he says, mouth open wide because he's clearly having trouble breathing through it. “Nice timing.”

Steve's cock is hard and heavy and hot between his legs, and Steve's body temperature is so high Sam would be worried about anybody else. He shakes his head and slides his palm up Steve's spine and back.

“Two ain't enough,” he says, and he doesn't give Steve time to answer before he spreads Steve's cheeks and shoves his tongue in Steve's ass, and Steve's back bows up, fingers tight in the sheets before he shoves the pillow against his face and moans.

Sam takes his time, because he's a modest guy but Steve needs more than two fingers to take him, and all of Steve's skin is soaked by now. Sam pulls back, scrapes his teeth over the curve of Steve's backside leaving scrape-marks in the sweat, and then points his tongue and runs the tip around Steve's hole.

Steve drops onto his elbows, face first into the pillow with all the weight of his upper body pretty much on his head as he pushes his ass into the air, and he moans again, makes soft little desperate noises. The edge is more sensitive, the side nearest the perineum even more so, and Sam tongues it, licks over it, presses his thumb against Steve's perineum just to open him up a little more and then sucks against it, and Steve's litany of sounds gets louder, more broken.

“Sam,” he gasps, turning his head out of the pillow to do it, and Sam grabs the lube and wets his fingers again.

He pushes his tongue through the ring of muscle when he's done teasing, pulls at the edges with it and then slides one finger in alongside, the second soon after. Then he spreads them.

Steve chokes, hips shifting back, tilting down, and his cock is off the bed like this, he's not getting anywhere with that. 

“Please, Sam,” he says, long and drawn out into the pillow again and Sam isn't about to be swayed, not with something this important. 

He adds a third and twists his wrist as he laps at the outside, elbows on the bed to free both hands. He pulls Steve's cheeks a little further open with his free hand and Steve clenches around his fingers and his tongue, so Sam gets his tongue between his fingers when he spreads them apart little by little.

“Sam, I can't,” Steve moans into the pillow, and there's another flash outside.

This time it's three seconds and they both of them startle but neither of them care, and Sam sits back and eases his fingers out and he slicks up his cock as he gets up behind Steve. He gives Steve' cock a few strokes where it hangs between his legs and watches Steve's hole clench and clench and clench with each one as Steve whimpers again, and then he spreads Steve's ass with both hands just to get a good look.

Steve's prepped enough, he'll take Sam without a problem but that's not the only reason to look. It makes him harder, he can feel the tingle of blood in his cock, and he pushes and pulls just to watch Steve's body react. 

It's good to watch, Sam could watch all day, but he wants in Steve more than he wants to look at him, so he grabs his cock after a few seconds and rubs the head over Steve's hole. 

Steve goes very quiet, very still, waiting with his whole body shaking as he turns his head out of the pillow to look down the length of his body and watch what he can of what Sam's doing, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Sam does it a couple more times, watching the muscle clench and unclench, loose and open, and then he lines himself up and pushes forward.

Steve's mouth drops open, he can see it out of the corner of his eye, and Steve's body jerks when the head of Sam's cock slips in past the rim – so does Sam's, he can't help it. Sam makes it slow, forces himself to take his time instead of fucking into him now, and Steve keeps still, lets Sam take what he wants at his own pace, but it's a struggle for him, Sam can see him twisting up the bedclothes even as he can feel his own resolve crumbling.

It steals his breath how tight Steve still is, how hot his body is around Sam's cock.

Once Sam bottoms out, he runs his palms up the sides of Steve's torso, brings them back along Steve's spine and the sinful dip at the small of Steve's back where his whole body's bowed jut to present his ass to Sam – Steve's breathing too fast and it's too warm in here but Sam's way past the point of no return now, and Steve would probably kill him if he stopped. 

Steve's temperature's soaring, in a way that makes Sam wonder if he really ought to be doing this, in a way that makes him wonder how it's _possible_ ; it's almost hot enough to burn but he gets hold of Steve's hips and draws back, a long, smooth drag of latex-covered skin against hot, shaking muscle, and Steve hides his face in the pillow again and rolls his shoulders forward with a long, soft moan that hitches halfway through.

Sam pushes back inside, hot, tight heat and his head spins as he tips it back and breathes, and it's easier this time, better for both of them from the way Steve's hands relax, from the way his spine moves. Sam's going to fuck him hard soon enough, and he wonders belatedly whether they should have moved the bed away from the wall, but it's too late for that now, and Steve's hand comes back, flies back and searches for Sam's, so Sam takes it and Steve damn near breaks his fingers with how hard he holds on.

“You,” Sam says, barely able to draw breath to speak through the humid air and over the overwhelming heat of Steve's body, “okay?” 

Steve nods too many times and too quickly as he turns his face back out from the pillow. His skin's dark with a flush born of heat and effort, and he stares back at Sam while Sam does it again – slow drag out and smooth push in.

“Sam,” he says, “Sam, I, please, Sam,” and Sam nods and looks down at the place where Steve's body swallows up his own.

“Feels good,” Sam says, his voice a lot lower than usual even to his own ears, “gonna move in a minute baby.”

Steve just nods again, squeezes Sam's fingers and says, “give it to me,” and Sam bites his lip and screws his eyes shut as he fights to hold back, he needs to be sure. 

“Sure you can take it?” he says, and he's not taunting, not this time.

“ _Please,_ ” Steve hisses, and Sam nods more for himself than for Steve.

“Okay,” he says, “okay,” and Steve lets go of his hand and grabs the sheets and lifts his ass a little higher. 

Sam gets steady on his knees, holds onto Steve's hips again and pulls back, slides home a little quicker this time, and Steve's eyes shut tight before he opens them again, Steve's breath comes loud and fast through his open mouth. Sam does it again, and again, and Steve's body twists, he pushes back to meet Sam this time.

“Okay,” Sam says again, and he tightens his fingers, watches the way Steve tenses, can feel it around his cock.

Sam pulls back, looks up at Steve and spreads his cheeks as he looks back down, pulls Steve open and draws back, and then he slams home and angles down, does it again and does it again and Steve turns his head back into the pillow and scrabbles for purchase with his hands. 

Sam doesn't let up, can't let up now he's started, speeding up until he's fucking Steve like a damned jackhammer and it feels so good, “So good, _Cher, tellement bien,_ so good,” and Steve just goes along with it, moaning and gasping into the pillow while his body shifts and turns under Sam's care.

“Yeah,” he moans, the word broken up by the force of Sam's thrusts and, fuck, he's close already, Steve's been close for a long time too. “Yeah, yeah, Sam, yeah,” and he's making a lot of noise for a guy who's entire body weight is pressing his face into a pillow, but he's desperate and wanting and Sam's trying to make this good.

The next peal of thunder starts before the lightning's even over, and Steve times it right this time, keening into the pillow while Sam plows into him and angles himself just right. Steve's spine snaps up, snaps back, and he drags his hand down the bedclothes to reach for Sam's hand again, and Sam takes it, slows down to lean forward and kiss his knuckles and then speeds right back up again.

The back of Sam's knees are sweating, his underarms are slick, but the slap of wet flesh on wet flesh doesn't lend itself well to quitting now, and the pleasure curling up his spine wouldn't let him anyway. There's sweat dripping off his nose and onto Steve's back, sweat running down his chest, and Steve's blond hair is dark with it, matted and curling against his the back of his neck.

“Get up,” Sam says, air leaving him in sharp, hard breaths as his body works to keep up the pace. “Baby, get up.”

And Steve does, pulling his arms inward to get them under him, pushing himself up on limbs sluggish with pleasure until he's on all fours again, and the change in angle makes Sam see stars. 

“Sam,” Steve offers brokenly, and Sam follows the line of Steve's spine with his hand and grabs his hair, yanks Steve's head back as he fucks into him over and over.

Steve moans into the darkness, too loud but who cares? And Sam keeps right on going, watching the way Steve's spine undulates, the way his arms shake, and it's too much to look at and not have, too much to watch without taking more. 

He makes a grab for Steve, pawing at his shoulders until Steve gets upright, on his knees over Sam's lap, and then Sam buries himself deep and manhandles Steve until he can get him back far enough to turn Steve's head back and kiss him over his shoulder, one arm across Steve's chest with the other under Steve's jaw.

Steve's mouth barely meets his own Steve's so uncoordinated, and Sam snaps hips up, one-two-three while Steve's back is slick against his chest like this, just so he can swallow the moan Steve makes, just so he can hear it loud and clear when the thunder and lightning come together and Steve keens at him again. There's sweat in Steve's eyebrows, at Steve's temples, and Sam reaches around and jerks his cock just so Steve's back will bow, just to watch his chest expand as he gasps, as his head drops back onto Sam's shoulder. 

He's hot and he's heavy and Sam wouldn't have it any other way, couldn't let him go to try, and Steve kisses him again, making noises into his mouth, one hand coming up to the back of Sam's head like an anchor, the other dropping down to Sam's wrist to follow the movement as he jerks Steve off. Steve can't do much at this point but hold on, and Sam snaps his hips up, over and over and Steve rolls his head on Sam's shoulder and moans and his fingers get tighter and he clenches and clenches around Sam, and Sam can't help it, knows it's playing an unfair advantage but Steve's winding up and he catches a flicker outside on the edge of his periphery, so he puts his mouth to Steve's ear and says,

“ _Jouis pour moi,_ ” and Steve does, crying pitifully out against the sound of the thunder that shakes the room, body jerking forward and back in Sam's arms, hips snapping up as his spine bows and his head rolls toward Sam's neck.

His hips jerk up and up and up and the muscles in his thighs shake against Sam's - the noise he makes tapers out just as the thunder does, to a soft, worn out groan, and Steve quiets, going almost still as he gasps against Sam's skin.

Sam slows the movement of his hand and his hips, strokes Steve's heaving chest and aching stomach as he comes down, the muscles still jumping, his body still jerking with the aftershocks. 

Steve's still making small, worn out moans with every hard breath, and his full weight's on Sam now, but he laughs breathlessly for a moment, moves his head closer until he's kissing Sam's raging pulse.

“ _Really_ nice timing,” he breathes again, and Sam chuckles, sweeps his hand over Steve's chest and strokes Steve's nipple with his fingertips, yeah, they are way too warm, but still... “You gonna finish?”

Sam doesn't need to be asked twice, but Steve needs a rest, so he eases him forward until Steve's on all fours, and then pulls out.

“On your back, _Cher_ , lemme see,” he says in response to Steve's noise of indignation, and Steve groans with the effort as he rolls over. 

Sam's quite happy to fuck him like this, but Steve lifts his legs and sets them on Sam's shoulders, tugs with his feet around the back of Sam's head, and Sam bends him in two to kiss him, God they're both covered in sweat, and his cock drags against Steve's ass as Steve grabs the back of his knees with his hands to hold himself open.

“Come on,” Steve says, looking down for a moment. “Get back here.”

Sam lines himself up with one hand, most of his weight against Steve's legs, one hand planted on the mattress, and then he kneels up and grabs Steve's ankles as Steve lets go of his legs.

“Okay?” he says, and Steve nods, smiling, still breathing hard but making a loose fist around his cock even so.

“Yeah,” he says, and Sam lets him have it, holding Steve's legs up like a counterweight while he fucks into him, hard and fast and Steve hisses through his teeth, body still too sensitive, but then he likes that kind of thing.

Sam's close already, difficult not to be in a situation like this, and his thighs are gonna burn tomorrow, but they didn't go for a run because they're on vacation so he figures it counts as one hell of a workout. 

“Oh,” he says, quiet as he can manage as he tips his head back, “oh, Steve, oh, baby, please...”

“That's it,” Steve says. _“C'est ca, je suis ici.”_

And it's such a shock, Steve's gorgeous, wrecked voice making those words at him that Sam's blindsided about half a minute earlier than he expected. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, tension twisting to snap behind his cock and way down deep inside, and then he's coming so hard there might as well be more lightning – maybe there is, Sam really doesn't know. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” and it's quiet but louder than it should be, it's so good and it just goes _on_ and he snaps his hips forward over and over, chasing the toe-curling pleasure of it, mouth hanging open, eyes screwed shut. “Oh, baby...”

“Hmm,” Steve answers, and Sam can't breathe, Sam can't move except for the faltering rhythm of his hips, except for the way his body moves without his say so and it tapers off, it does, but so slowly, runs him down and takes the last of his energy with it, and he doesn't make it to another kiss. 

He slips out of Steve and flops sideways on the bed and says, “oh my God,” and covers his eyes with his arm. 

His arm's too hot, and his forehead is soaked, his skin sticking to the bedclothes.

Steve laughs softly, and the bed shifts, and then Steve's mouth is on him, gentle and sweet, pressing kisses to his throat and his chest, hands stroking over his stomach (God, it aches), and Sam moves his arm to kiss Steve properly when Steve gets back up to his face.

 _“C'était bon pour toi?”_ Steve murmurs when he draws away, and Sam just blinks at him for a second or two.

“Good for me?” he says. “Cher, that was _insane_ for me, God, I can't feel my feet.”

Steve snickers, and he takes Sam's condom off first, then his own. He gets off the bed to dispose of them and then he comes back and settles back on the bed next to Sam.

“We oughta shower,” he says, wiping the sweat off Sam's brow, his cheek, his upper lip, “you're burning up.”

“No kidding,” Sam answers, and then he turns his head to look at Steve. “You speak French?”

Steve looks confused for a moment. 

“Yeah?” he says eventually. 

Sam blinks at him again, his addled brain fighting to take it in. “So...”

“So when you said you couldn't think of anything to say, I understood that, yeah,” Steve says, and Sam laughs and covers his face with his hands.

“Oh, man,” he says. “I didn't even...I forgot all about that.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, and Sam can picture the wry grin. “Come on, _Cher, allons se laver._ ”

Steve gets up, and Sam takes the hand he offers (and lets Steve steady him when he wavers). 

“We need to find clothes,” he says. “Bathroom's down the hall.”

“Put your shorts on, that'll do,” Steve says. “You promised me something earlier and I'm gonna collect.”

Sam feels himself flush all over again at the reminder – Steve does do eating out seriously well. Still though.

“Ain't you finished yet?” he says, and Steve takes his hand and moves the chair away from the door so they can at least get out of the room, get some air in.

“Oho,” he says. “I ain't even started.”

~

He's not lying either. After he kneels down to eat Sam out in the shower while Sam's hands slip on the tiles, for long enough that Sam's hard for a second time, he settles on the floor under the cold spray and Sam holds Steve's hands over his head, pins them to the tile and rides him so hard Steve's head spins while the water rushes over them both.

After that, they move back into the bedroom, open the windows and lie down for a little while.

And then, later, Sam says, _“Satisfait?”_ and, within about twenty seconds, Steve is most certainly not.

~

Morning finds them out on the back porch. After their third consecutive shower, Steve gave it up and let Sam rest.

Now, they're sitting on the bench and waiting for the day to start together.

“You doin' okay?” Sam asks.

Steve smiles at the sunrise and lowers his head as his eyes fall closed.

“We're on vacation,” he says. “If every day's gonna be like this, goin' back'll be harder than I thought.”

Sam laughs softly, stretches his arms.

“You wanna coffee?” he says. “We got chicory somewhere for you touristy types.”

“Sure,” Steve says, but he hooks his arm around Sam's waist when Sam makes to stand. “Later.”

Sam laughs at him, lets himself be pulled back down (not that there's much he could do about it if he didn't) and lets Steve haul him close, lean against him.

“I love you,” Steve says, his voice gentle and warm like day breaking slowly over the horizon, and Sam looks at him, not quite surprised as Steve opens his eyes to show Sam they're both wide awake. “I love you.”

Sam smiles, can't help it, kisses him because he can't help that either, and settles his hand against Steve's face.

“Yeah, me too,” he concedes, rolling his eyes, and Steve chuckles, laugh, presses his forehead to Sam's and holds him close, so Sam rubs his nose against Steve's, gets their faces close enough to kiss and then kisses him. “I love you too.”

For a while, they kiss, hands slow and easy, kisses just the same. 

The Sun isn't up yet, the world that was asleep is waking up while everything that spent the night awake is going back to sleep, them included.

They might as well – they have nowhere to be.


End file.
